The scent of you on my hand and lips
lingers in my dream and limps
through my every day,
I am consumed as I resume my dull way
through the heart of an indifferent
novocaine.
it was like mars had lips to speak of us....
last we met wetly and the Earth moved
from the hole I'd chosen to die in.
we were both of Us
tying to come about
from a dim luck... as we ******
at each other's rust
where our steel was frost and numb
but our towers gleamed young
and less ridiculous
than a close shave
in a black room
too beautiful
to refuse a sun
too small to be a star
and yet too huge
to be
removed.
II
It was a Wednesday
when our Tuesday asked
for Tomorrow
back.
We lacked the skill to atone
for our fumbling
but conjured our errant will.
you had smoke in your dark brown eyes
and I had both eyes
on your wanton thighs...
we clamored toward Utopia
clutching no heavenly thing
save our fire
in Ice.
III
Lately,you seem one with the gone swans.
and I know how they forage thru unforgivable
songs...
but the scent of you lingers on my fingertips
Like a long dawn.
A sunset, upset...
where the light keeps
every dark
gone,
and all the rest
inept